They warned me of the big, bad wolf lurking in the brush.

He had teeth yellow and stained with blood,

An insatiable hunger for my girlhood.

The glimmer of wonder shimmering in my eyes

Grew dull and weary of watching my back

For fear of fangs proclaiming themselves a knife,

Unzipping my flesh to unsheath my skeleton,

Spiraling, spiraling—

Squirming with my eight arachnid legs as I spin my web of lies—

I was ready to be devoured.

My innocence was dead and buried.

He wore my skin like a ballgown,

Waltzing away with my fantasy of true love,

And when I asked to see the man behind the mask—

They do say the way to his heart

Is through his stomach.